


Words of an Angel

by OverMyFreckledBody



Series: Streaks of Color [1]
Category: Shingeki no Kyojin | Attack on Titan
Genre: (jean is so happy with his boyfriend no matter how silly he gets about it you guys dont even know), (not emotionally - wink wink), (theres just not a lot to tag this with?? idk), Established Relationship, Fluff, Implied Sexual Content, M/M, Marco is a true romantic, Sneaking Out, Some kissing, also - jean is sensitive af, quoting books (the same one over and over bc Marco wilL NOT LET IT DROP), really cheesy lines, rocks at the window
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-04-07
Updated: 2016-04-07
Packaged: 2018-05-31 19:16:35
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,733
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6484225
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/OverMyFreckledBody/pseuds/OverMyFreckledBody
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Right before bed, Jean gets distracted by a rock hitting next to his window. It can only be one person, and he's here with too many expectations of what is romantic. </p><p>And he's here to give Jean his birthday sex.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Words of an Angel

**Author's Note:**

> *slides hand down face* I really love these books, you can't hate me for this. I wrote this BEFORE my rainbow challenge, alright? And fuck off, Jace has the most quotable lines I swear to god.
> 
> So yes, Jean gets a special birthday fic from me because I was reading City of Glass recently, sue me.
> 
> I don't have a lot of music for this, but I have [the music I'm listening to](http://8tracks.com/fireheartaelin/i-couldn-t-love-you-like-i-do-if-i-weren-t-at-least-a-little-bit-human) as I'm typing this if you want that.
> 
> Happy Birthday, loser boy. You're my fave and I'll be really pissed if something happens to you this month's chapter release! :D

With a glance at the alarm clock atop his dresser, one of the few things producing light in his room, Jean rolled his eyes at himself upon seeing the time.

 

_ 11:48 _

 

It was starting to get late and he had only just pushed himself away from his computer and turned it off. He had been watching lots of shows lately in his spare time and they were starting to cut into the time he should have been sleeping, so he was trying to pull back. 11 was better than 2 in the morning, however, but it still wasn’t the greatest. He needed to keep working at it.

 

A sound caught somewhere between a thump and a knock against his wall drew him out of his mild scolding and he turned to it, pausing to listen for more noises. After another second, there was another thunk of some kind and he flipped on his lights before wandering over to his window to see what it could be.

 

There, on the edge of his roof, was Marco, squatting with a pile of rocks sitting beside him. At seeing Jean’s figure, he broke into a large grin and tossed the rock he had in his hand into the air, catching it as it fell down before setting it aside with the others. He pointed at Jean’s window and made a motion of lifting it open before he stood up and - carefully - walked over.

 

Rolling his eyes once more, Jean unlocked and pried open the window, leaning against the sill as he pulled the toothbrush (he had been getting ready for bed, after all) out of his mouth. “Rocks, seriously? You could have just knocked.”

 

“Rocks are more romantic,” Marco quipped back, sending Jean a cheeky smirk as he ducked under the window and sat down on the corner of Jean’s bed.

 

Jean couldn’t disagree with it, even if it was cheesy. Instead, he countered with, “Should I be expecting a boombox the next time you show up?”

 

Freezing, the smile on Marco’s face dropped, just a little. “Do you want me to bring a boombox?”

 

Staring back at him to determine if he was being serious, Jean shook his head and then with a  chuckle, more to sooth the nerves that had sparked at seeing someone on his  _ roof _ than anything else, as he turned to close the window so no cold, night air got let in, “No. Oh god, no.” He set his toothbrush on his computer desk and fell into the chair in front of it, closing his eyes. “Do I even want to know how you even got onto my roof? This is a second story bedroom.”

 

“Probably not.”

 

He could  _ hear _ the boy’s smirk in his words. Opening his eyes, he glanced at Marco and saw that he was right about the smirking, but it was one of his “happy” ones, so close to a smile it was almost hard to tell. It was only obvious by the way his eyes tended to show when he did one or the other; lit up and wide when he grinned, focusing on all of him, but only on a single part of when when he was smirking, usually through his long lashes and often with a hint of amusement. 

 

He never believed he would be able to read a person so well until he had met Marco, so obvious with his emotions, making them clear for even a person without the best people skills.

 

“We do have a door, you know,” he told him, crossing his legs and tilting his head up just a little, to be the one looking down at the other for once, “You could have texted me.”

 

“Not as romantic.”

 

With a shrug, Jean found that he didn’t really want to argue against that, so instead he just took in Marco’s attire. He was in his “lazy jeans”, the ones with holes in them, one over each knee and a few small ones scattered over his thighs, and ratty, old Nikes, that looked even more worn down, with dirt crusted along the edges of the bottoms. He wasn’t wearing any makeup, because he had probably taken a shower already (which kind of earned itself a defeated purpose since he went right back outside), despite his hair being combed instead of all curly like it was when it got wet, and was wearing another one of his usual crop tops (Jean wondered if he had anything else in his closet) that was black with white, block lettering, reading,  _ And if there is a life after that, I’ll love you then. _

 

It was familiar, but he couldn’t put his finger on it. Pointing at it, he asked where it was from. Marco glanced down at it and as he read it, his eyes brightened with a light that immediately answered Jean’s question. He must have known that Jean knew, too, because he didn’t say anything, only biting his lip around his smile. 

 

He knew that look. It had to have been one of those books - there were a lot of them, so many that sometimes the stories tended to bleed together in his head - that Marco had made him read because he loved them so much. 

 

“Jesus Christ,” he breathed and then laughed as Marco’s grin grew and he looked down. “I can’t believe you got that on a shirt.”

 

“Hey!” Marco couldn’t even pretend to sound offended, not with the little giggles that spilled out of him between each time he spoke. “It was a good quote, and if even Jesus himself said it to me, I’d invite him to bed, too.”

 

With those words, Jean instantly knew which books his shirt was referencing and he ducked his head, covering his face at the sheer  _ absurdity _ of the situation. Sure, he had talked about hot guys with Marco, before and after they had started dating, but they never really discussed what lines the hot guy had said that would get them into bed. Especially not tortured  _ angel  _ boys with always the best of lines like-

 

Hands on his knees interrupted his thoughts and he separated his fingers to look through them, at the smoulder Marco had going on with hooded lids and teeth pulling on his bottom lip as he leaned into Jean’s lap, voice too low and  _ slow _ to fit the tone that had been written with the original scene, “There is no pretending-”

 

Jean cut him off, pushing his hands away as he stood, rolling his eyes and trying not to start laughing again. “You just want to get into bed with me.”

 

Though he said nothing, the way he raised his eyebrows and stared up at his boyfriend told Jean that he was right.

 

“I can’t believe you memorized that.” It wasn’t that it was a complicated quote - it really wasn’t, actually - but it was that Marco just  _ had _ , that made it seem so  _ silly _ . Jean had liked it and  _ he _ hadn’t even tried to put it to memory.

 

Instantly, the ends of Marco’s mouth dropped downward how they always did when he was about to pout. “It’s  _ romantic _ ,” he tried to tell Jean, reaching for his hand. “Every time I see it I think of you-” Jean snorted at that. “And I’ve always wanted to say it to you.”

 

As…  _ ridiculous _ as it was, Jean knew he was telling the truth and with that thought to cement it, he could feel the warmth it brought to his cheeks and he looked away, his fingers curling around Marco’s own, breath shaking somewhat as he exhaled. “If you want to say it,” he started, shooting a glance at Marco who looked like a child on Christmas morning with what he knew Jean was about to offer, “I won’t stop you, I guess.”

 

He could hear his excited breath before the question was asked, and it made his lips twitch up, just a bit, “Will you let me into your bed after I say it?”

 

Jean didn’t look at him, but the way his smile seemed to fight against itself told probably told Marco enough of his answer. So, after he took Jean’s other hand in his free one, he looked up, unblinkingly, and started, “There is no pretending,” he paused, thumbs trailing gently over the backs of Jean’s hands, but even the short silence wouldn’t make him look down, too embarrassed by the whole scenario to do much but stare at the closed window. “I love you, and I will love you until I die, and if there is a life after that, I will love you then.”

 

With each confession of  _ I love you _ ’s, Jean’s heart spluttered weakly in his chest like a dying engine, even if he had heard the phrase from Marco before, even directed at himself. It was still fairly new to hear, but it was still just as exciting, and he couldn’t help but whisper his own right back, “I love you, too, you nerd.”

 

Marco seemed pleased with the answer he got, as he scooted backwards on the bed, tugging at Jean’s hands to pull him with him, until he was sitting in his lap, thighs on either side of Marco’s own, where he kissed his forehead, and then each cheek, and the corner of his mouth. Jean could feel the smile in each one, and it only made him flush harder to know it was from both his words and the fact that he  _ was blushing _ over all of this. 

 

“So,” whispered Marco, as he moved his hands to Jean’s hips and inched him even closer, his next words reminding Jean just what day it was and telling him of the reason Marco had likely snuck in for, “Do you want your birthday sex now, or tomorrow?”

 

It was April 6th, or - he glanced at the flashing red numbers of  _ 12:05 _ on his alarm clock - it had been about five minutes ago. Raising his eyebrows, he looked back at Marco who was looking at him with the most comfortable gaze he had seen him use. He placed his hands on Marco’s chest and the thumbs that tapped his sides made his body temperature go up at least a few degrees, but that didn’t stop him from teasing the boy beneath him, “Technically tomorrow would be the 8th.”

 

Marco didn’t have to look at the clock to know what he was talking about. “What happened to ‘it’s not tomorrow until I go to bed’?”

 

“Well,” Jean started, ignoring the less than amused look Marco was starting to give him, “If we’re going by that, then that means that fucking right now wouldn’t be accurate, either, as it would still be the 6th.”

 

“Stop,” Marco groaned weakly, laying his head against Jean’s shoulder, close enough to his neck that he could feel the puffs of his breath ghost along his skin. Each one made him shiver and twitch, and he wouldn’t doubt that Marco knew that. “You’re killing the mood.”

 

“I didn’t know we had a mood.”

 

Scoffing into his shirt, Marco shook his head and pressed his forehead into the material. “I had built it up,” oh, there was his mocking voice, that sounded awfully like a whine, “And you’re just letting all my hard work go to waste.”

 

Jean snorted, but couldn’t help the amused grin that was still on his lips. “Well,  _ I’m _ sorry that you saying a couple lines back to me that you didn’t even come up with doesn’t spark a  _ mood _ for me.”

 

Marco knocked his head against Jean’s shoulder and groaned again. “You totally felt the mood. That quote is one of the most-” If he said  _ romantic _ one more time, Jean was going to punch him, he decided. “Mood-inspiring things I’ve come across. And you have to admit,” he leaned in closer to Jean’s neck, to mouth his words against the ever quickening pulse flooding through it, “It’s kind of sexy.”

 

Jean’s body chose to be the judge on if it were, settling on the fact that it  _ was _ kind of sexy to hear, proving its answer with more shivers and fingers that fell from Marco’s crop top to trace along and play with the outline of his abdominal muscles. He could feel Marco’s mouth smirk along his neck at his wordless answer, and his grip on his hips tightened as he dragged him forward even closer, so the hands on Marco’s stomach were at an odd angle from being so closely pressed together. 

 

“You’re still a nerd,” he tried to keep at it, but between the way his voice sounded so out of breath and the fact that he kept letting out little gasps each time Marco moved his mouth to a different place on his neck, it didn’t hold much weight.

 

Humming into his skin, Marco’s retort was nonchalant as he began to push up Jean’s shirt. “What does that make  _ you _ for getting turned on by my ‘nerdy’ line?”

 

“A victim-” he started, attempting to defend himself and his  _ honor _ , but his words caught on how Marco’s teeth pressed into the place at the juncture of his shoulder and his neck and he couldn’t see for a moment or two, much less  _ think _ . As he struggled to continue with what he was saying, he instead found himself lurching forward into Marco’s torso when his warm hands pressed into his much warmer, now naked sides. “G-Goddamn it.”

 

With a chuckle that was throaty enough to tell Jean that Marco was enjoying his noises and squirms in a way that went past simple amusement, Marco began to place more gentle, less heated kisses to his skin. “You want to slow down, sweetheart?”

 

“You’re an asshole,” Jean muttered, fingers curling against Marco’s muscles. “We’re not even doing much.”

 

Though it was true, he reacted as if they were already naked and a lot more spit and sweat had been produced. “I know,” Marco began, hands slowly and comfortingly moving up and down his sides, thumbs moving inward with each swipe up of his palms. “You’re just really sensitive.” Jean made a noise of disgruntlement, but Marco only laughed again. “It’s very endearing.”

 

Moving his hands to curl around Marco’s neck, he pursed his lips. “‘Endearing’ is a weird word for it,” he claimed, fingers playing with the short hairs on the back of Marco’s neck.

 

“It’s also,” he ran his hands down to settle at Jean’s thighs, thumbs edging along the inner sides and pressed into the fabric, just beside a place that made Jean swallow hard. “ _ Incredibly _ sexy,” he murmured, voice deepened as he gave Jean’s thighs a squeeze, to which he shifted in Marco’s lap at.

 

“Oh yeah?” Jean tested, a little laugh in his voice. “Sexy like me whispering,” he leaned closer to mumble into Marco’s ear, “About how I will love you until I die?”

 

“Wow.” Marco pulled back and though his voice made it out to sound like he was offended, he was grinning. Jean raised his eyebrows at him, returning a little smile of his own, and Marco shook his head, only barely, but enough to make his longer hairs wave. “Who’s the asshole now?”

 

Actually laughing then, Jean let go with one hand to tap Marco’s nose, tilting his own head to the side. “The birthday boy can’t be an asshole - birthday boy is always perfect.”

 

“That doesn’t mean he can’t be both,” Marco informed him, pressing forward to place a light kiss on Jean’s upper lip. “Because I know for a fact that all year long  _ this _ birthday boy is an asshole, but he’s also always perfect.”

 

“You’re so cheesy.” Jean’s words brushed against Marco’s own lips and Marco smiled into them, not pulling back. He did fall backwards when Jean nudged him, however, collapsing onto the sheets and dragging Jean down with him, one hand now on his hip, the other curled around his shoulders to hold him close against him when they fell. 

 

“I’m  _ romantic _ .”

 

Jean shook his head and straightened out as he pressed his mouth more persistently into Marco’s own, as if it would keep him quiet. “Shut up, angel boy.”

  
It wasn’t really until Marco rolled them over and murmured, “Anything for the birthday boy,” before any sounds that left either of their mouths were rarely words, teasing or not.

**Author's Note:**

> I chickened out, I guess, like whatever. I just didn't feel up to it, and it felt nice to end it there? Idk.
> 
> Here is my [snk/writing tumblr](overmyfreckledbody.tumblr.com). Here is the link you can use to [reblog this fic](http://overmyfreckledbody.tumblr.com/post/142391664778/happy-birthday-jeanbo-we-all-love-you-so-much-i) if you so chose!
> 
> Thanks for reading! If you liked it, it would mean a lot if you could give me a kudos or even a comment. Have a wonderful day.


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